Query feels like a brand though it comes with veil
the doctors say, phantom pain becomes step mother
to fragile veins
first one to freeze come a cold snap
ready for tindering a bristling fire
at noon I want to eat warm eggs from your palm
touch your vermillion paint brush to my own face
feel the render of tempera against parchment
without any contempt for you, I wish you gone
but ink dries fast in the cold, it’s a myth it takes a warm day
to run a bath and slit your wrists
they never ask why, only how
the fire trucks blink like fallen damsons on melting streets
it was your enemy knocked on the door, broke it down, carried you out
not laughing at your slack form, the way your hair when wet
thins into dismal life line
the bequeath of surprise leaves us wordless
I with my bandages, you with your newly found soul
the sweetness of sharing this clementine center almost makes us forget our mutual hatred
to burn in respective votive, prayed to by sinners, also cherishing the role of loathing
dying is a slow storm, coming in squall, lost to its own menace
we leave the phone off the hook and become masks affixed to unpainted wall
maybe the next inhabitants will lift them gently from their nail
and remark before painting
that they left no shadow
TheFeatheredSleep 